


Daffodils and Anemones

by MinnHyeokk



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Flowers, Hanahaki Disease, Heavy Angst, Hospitalization, Language of Flowers, Love Confessions, Lowkey poetic writing, Lowkey self-harm, M/M, Mentioned Stray Kids Ensemble, Muteness, Near Death, Poetic, Surgery, muteness is cuz of the surgery, single parent, sorta?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-09 10:28:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18915103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinnHyeokk/pseuds/MinnHyeokk
Summary: It's exact cause was unknown, science could never explain how or when it began. But people knew how it started. Bloody coughs and bloody petals. Hanahaki Disease, it kills and hurts more than anything, but it could very well be your savior





	1. Daffodils

**Author's Note:**

> So uhhhhh hi hello I've decided to be a meanie and write this uwu ples don't be mad but like I hope you like it anyway ig and like I'm sorry for like lowkey breaking anyone's hearts hhhhh
> 
> EDIT: I uhhhhh I /just/ figured out how to make it a chaptered fic hhhhhhhhhhhh plez suhcribe I'm gonna be posting the next chapter next week probs

 

_Jisung coughed and coughed and coughed. Jisung hacked and choked and it felt as if he was trying to regurgitate an entire organ. He couldn't take the pain but it was necessary, especially when he looked down into his hand and flower petals stained with blood lay in his palm._

 

Jisung didn't think he would have gotten so far in life without the people he loved. And that was saying a lot for he had an enormous heart, made entirely of pure gold. As pure as it was, his heart shone for those that hurt and Jisung would willingly give them his love and kindness unconditionally. Looking at the people around him, his eight self-proclaimed brothers, the most important people in his life (other than his mother); he felt his heart swell with love particularly for a boy with eyes like a kitten and a hysterical laugh that lit up his world. 

 

 

When Jisung discovered he'd suddenly started coughing up drops of blood, he hid it from his friends and family, not wanting them to worry. He thought it would just be a phase, just the simple aftereffects of being a little overworked (and maybe drinking nothing other than heavily caffeinated beverages). A simple rest and the promise of a little more plain water everyday would cure it. _Right?_ He thought. 

 

For a while the coughing fits lessened, but they grew more intense until one particularly bad episode had found blood-stained flower petals laying menacingly in his palm. Shocked beyond belief, he locked himself in his room, feigning a simple cough and cold as he continued hacking up little piles of petals. He wouldn't have thought such a tragedy would happen to him, not to someone who hoped with all the world to fall in love with another and to have that love returned. As he lay in his bed that very same night, he thought and he thought and he thought, of all the possibilities of _how_ he ended up with such a disease. _Hanahaki_ \- he'd found based on the recounts of people who shared their experiences with the online world. It'd come to whoever had intense feelings of affection for another, yet weren't returned in time. How long till the onset, it always differed between individuals, but the same symptoms would come for all of them. Intense episodes of coughing fits, blood stained flower petals, the feeling of death creeping behind every step. 

 

No other cure than having those feelings reciprocated, though there were counts of some claiming they lived after getting a dangerous, high-risk surgery to remove the rooting flowers. The only repercussion would be the horrible trauma left behind and the feeling of having lost part of their humanity in the process. And as all these facts and opinions and experiences and advices Jisung had gathered from the internet, he lay still in his bed till the sun rose on another hopeful day. Heaviness swirling in his mind, yet through that thick fog of inevitable hopelessness, the boy who'd been recently invading his mind unwarranted came once again. Overtaking his thoughts before his tired mind claims its much needed slumber. 

 

 

After his first few fits and episodes, he'd controlled it better, hiding the barely controllable urges to cough behind clenched teeth and tight-lipped smiles, claiming the need of the bathroom to relieve himself. And each time he ran to escape the worrisome stares of his friends, he fails to notice a pair of glimmering brown eyes following Jisung till he disappears behind a corner. Jisung liked to be hopeful, he'd taken a while, but he'd realize his feelings for a certain boy - whose eyes crinkled in the corners as he smiled a smile so bright he felt blinded - were more than brotherly. It was on another of his nightly routines, staring blankly at the ceiling of his room contemplating the reasons for his unfortunate predicament. Jisung recalled the cause of every person who'd contracted this _disease_ had one way or another intense feelings of love and affection, or so they claim. 

 

Thinking about the people he held dearly in his heart, Jisung's thoughts always led him back to the boy with a silent voice, who'd always wear a necklace or a turtle neck, who'd somehow always be shy around Jisung yet so boisterous and loud, despite his disability, around the people they grew to call family. It was then he felt his throat constrict and pain shoot up his neck and into his head, as if it was fate's cruel way of telling him he'd found an answer to one of his questions. That night he begged his mother not to let anyone know, for fear he would be treated different, for fear he'd lose the one he _needed_ to live, for fear he'd never be given a chance before even trying. 

 

 

Jisung's favorite flower is an Anemone. A little flower filled with petals and hope, bright reds and pinks, delicate whites, deep purples and blues. He liked the flower, firstly because it looked like the brooch his mother used to wear in her hair, before he'd learned flowers carried many meanings, an entire language on their own. Love, forsaken love, and dying love. Death and ill omens. But most importantly, the anticipation and excitement of something hopeful and great. Jisung held onto that symbolism, held it tight to his chest and kept his heart hopeful. Where his mother had given up on romantic love, he would love fiercely for her. When his father unfortunately passed, Jisung had decided to keep his head held high and to always look to the future just as the little flower opens its petals each morning. 

 

 

As time passed, days and weeks, Jisung eventually grew tired and pale. Losing his hope each morning that came and each night he spent lying awake in his bed. But he remained hopeful, each day that came he never let go of the hope of having his love returned. Jisung kept dreaming and looking to the future, for he believed his time hasn't come and his future wouldn't die yet. But as the days piled on, Jisung hope wavered and the light in his spirit and eyes eventually diminished. The pain in his throat and head grew ever more intense, breathing became a chore too hard to complete and he could no longer hide his deteriorating condition from the people who meant the world to him. It wasn't long before he landed himself in the hospital; his friends had already suspected something serious happening, but it took Jisung collapsing and suddenly not breathing being their final straw of tolerance. Though it may have already been too late, not even the already dangerous option of surgery could salvage what was left of his throat. 

 

Jisung listened lifelessly to his family of nine and his mother crying by his bedside. Weakly holding onto whoever held his hand. Jisung had finally given up hope, or so he thought. Till one night, when a terribly intense and painful coughing fit woke him up - and whoever was by his bed - horrible thoughts crossing his mind, of his final moments being in pain and without the comfort of the one he needed to _survive_. Jisung thought he died when soothing relief flooded his chest and his fit had stopped, not till he felt light pressure on his lips. Soft, lightly chapped lips lay on top of his own, and Jisung opened his eyes to find eyes like a kitten's meeting his own and the light ghost of a breath brushing his cool face. 

 

"I love you." Jisung barely heard the hoarse whisper of an unused voice. "I'm sorry. I love you." And Jisung kissed him back, or he tried to when he leaned up, but whatever flower had tortured him and his heart, ended up being regurgitated onto the floor. Its unforgiving roots having given up hope of taking a life and the flower lay terrifyingly bright in a small puddle of blood. Though a little blood-stained, Jisung finally recognized the yellow and white flowers to be _Daffodils_. The cherished flower of the one he loved. Flowers that resembled the sun, flowers that were cherished by Minho who was as bright as the sun in Jisung's life, now more than ever. 

 

 

 


	2. Anemones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanahaki. Many call it an abomination, a curse from God. But as much as it takes from people, it also gives. Even more so, a second chance for those who dared to take the risk. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: I forgot to add in my authors note lmao I suck at this hskshsksshk I really shouldn't make multi chaptered fics huh anyway uhhhhhhh hope yall like this it's Minho's pov of the whole coughing bloody flowers thing hhhhh

_Minho hacked and coughed. A lung or two definitely rupturing in the process as he felt his chest tighten painfully to give in sickening reward, a handful of blood-stained, delicate petals. Love's cruel gift to whoever challenged her._

  
Minho. Growing up, he was a quiet child, shy and reserved. He'd mostly play on his own, though he'd welcome any that would come into his life. Even as he was older he'd have many friends but none he would call his very own little family. A family of nine, eight boys coming together and learning the ways of the world, and one especially who'd wormed his way into Minho's heart. A boy with soft, round cheeks, a smile as bright as the sun and a heart of gold.

  
Minho loved Daffodils. A delicate white flower with a splash of bright yellow. To Minho, he liked to interpret it as him being a little plain and ordinary on the outside but having this brightness to his personality that only certain people - who took the time to be with him - could experience. Minho learned, through various internet searches, that the flower had many meanings - and a number of them clashing between the East and West. One of which was good fortune and incoming death respectively.

  
If Minho weren't the man he was currently, he wouldn't relate to the flower's clashing symbolism. The death of a love, with the fortune of loving again. Though Minho was a quiet child, he never lost his voice not until he'd contracted _Hanahaki_. As a young child, he had loved a girl so much he didn't understand his own feelings. But, he barely remembers anything of the girl with a sweet smile, only painful memories remained as the phantom pains of the horrible disease - and the aftereffects of having it forcefully removed - tormented him every once in a while.

  
Self-conscious, he wears accessories around his neck or keeps himself covered to his chin - just like the high of the trumpet of a Daffodil. To keep his scars and insecurities hidden, a history he doesn't want to revisit.

 

  
Minho hoped for a future where he could love again. Despite knowing the repercussions and consequences, he looks to a bright future, a future filled with bright smiles, warm caresses and a happiness worth the pain he's endured. But even if he has to wait years upon years, he's content with being patient, he's content with where he is; though a little sad, he loves the little family of misfits that has come together.

  
He's content and somewhat happy, not till a member of his small little cherished family begins straying from the others. He's noticed, the boy of round, soft cheeks looking paler and in a perpetual state of discomfort. Ever frequently leaving in the middle of conversations and meet ups, the overused excuse of needing the bathroom. He noticed each time he returned, his lips drier, more chapped yet somehow stayed bright red as if stained with blood. The contrasting scarlet hue with his ever paling skin, becoming more unnerving each day.

  
Minho would voice his concern each time, though he couldn't speak he'd mostly relied on his other friends, signing to them and letting them speak for him. You see, because of his tragedy, Minho was left mostly without a voice. He could speak but with only great effort and incredible strain and pain on his throat. As a result, he resorted to signing and using his facial expressions to communicate.

  
But trying to express concern with his eyes and his hands could only do so much to convey how worried he was. How he missed the round soft cheeks he used to tease and cherish. How he missed the slightly heart-shaped smile that would unfailingly brighten his day. Minho would ask how his laugh had changed and become more painful each day. He would ask what had been troubling him, what was giving him so much pain. But Minho could only watch his dear friend deteriorate while he himself stood helpless with his heart aching more and more.

 

  
It wasn't a particularly special day, it was the same as any other day. Minho went to classes, went to his part time job after, dreaded the moment his friends decided to crash his workplace but enjoyed their company no less. It wasn't a particularly special day yet Minho had this incredible sense of foreboding, something was coming and he didn't know what. He was caught off guard, though, when a joke made him burst out in near painful laughter, it wasn't the joke _per se_ but the person who told it. A boy with sunken cheeks that used to be plump and round. A boy with a heart-shaped smile that used to be so bright, now only filled with painful sadness. It was then that the familiar pains struck his throat that he had to cough and cry out in pain.

  
Fortunately for him, Fate had a twisted sense of mercy and let him excuse a particularly bad fit of coughs with the horrible joke that was just told. Ironic that a joke could give just as much amusement as the pain he was currently experiencing. And for the second time that day, it seemed as if Fate took pity on him - on the boy who was about to experience the same tragedy twice - Minho didn't have anymore fits of bad coughs in front of his dearly loved ones.

 

  
From then on, Minho spent his days in a daze. Not entirely noting the differences in his behavior nor his friends. But he was thankful that he was already normally the quiet friend in his group, no one not explicitly taking notice of his change in demeanor - or at least they chose to never question the change. The pains in his throat growing more intense, he could feel once more the roots of a cursed, twisted flower digging into his flesh. It wasn't long after that first episode that he started hacking up little petals of purple and blue; they were a pretty color if not for the menacing stains of blood glaring back at him.

 

  
Minho begun resenting life, not for his own, but for destroying the life of the one Minho has come to love. It didn't take long for Minho to realize his feelings; though he feels a little sad that Minho might not be the one he loves, he's accepted the fact that whoever the boy loves will be the happiest in the world and Minho would be more than happy for him.

  
Minho resented life and fate and love, for being unfair to the boy he loves. For being unfair to him and not giving him the confidence he needs to confess, for not giving him a chance at having his loved returned. He'd spent so much of his time resenting the wrong things, when the boy collapses one _supposedly_ ordinary day, it comes as a nerve chilling shock. Minho - and the others - were losing precious time and he should have paid attention to the boy he was supposed to love. He should have noticed the little changes earlier. Minho should have known he would be at his limits. Minho should have noticed many things and done much more to stop whatever had already happened. But Minho was too busy resenting the wrong things, he began to resent himself. He began regretting the mistakes he'd made, not letting himself be present for the one he loves. And as if in a poor attempt at repentance, Minho stayed by the side of the bed, in an uncomfortable chair and never left. Glaring threateningly at whoever dared to oppose his decision.

 

  
Minho worries for the future. For the future of the one he loved. If he will have another chance to love. If this, that moment Minho and the boy is in, is the last he will love someone. Minho sat simmering in his thoughts he fails to notice the boy on the bed beginning another fit of coughs. Another fit so bad and intense it felt as if it will be the last the boy chances a breath free of pain. And Minho, with no other option in his mind, panics and kisses him. Minho kisses the boy with horrible coughs on the bed. Not minding the bits of blood and the taste of old iron on his lips; Minho stays until the coughing stops and he opens his eyes to meet another pair of beautiful browns staring back at him. In a last effort of salvation, Minho croaks out from his long, unused throat, "I love you, Jisung."

 

  
It isn't the end though. The boy coughs and hacks and retches one last time, blood stained flowers with its threatening roots flopping weakly onto the floor. Finally powerless yet still ominously beautiful. Minho then has his turn of intense and painful retching, throwing up stalks of _Anemones_.

  
"My favorite flower," Jisung comments off handedly, "they're _Anemones_." Minho recalls it's symbolism, of sickness and of being forsaken. How twisted must Fate have been to give him so much hardship simply for Jisung to choose such a hauntingly beautiful flower. But Jisung isn't done talking it seems. When he explains how they symbolize hope and looking forward to a brighter day each morning. Minho decides then, he will protect Jisung's future so he can look forward to each day, brighter than the previous and filled with love just as much everyday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P. S. pls comment I need validation I also don't mind me sum constructive criticism but like I'm sensitive so uhhhhhhhhhhhh pls no hate thanks


End file.
